Whose Bun Is in the Oven?
by cactusnell
Summary: Is Molly pregnant? And who is the father? Mary is on the case. Sherlolly. A sequel of sorts to The Mummy Walks Among Us, which followed The Logical Proposition. Confused?


It was rather late on a Friday afternoon, and Sherlock Holmes was just returning to his flat at 221b Baker street. Surprisingly, he had been out rounding up some snacks, beer, and wine for the weekly gathering in his sitting room. Who would have ever believed that the great detective had turned into such a social animal. Certainly not himself! But her had come to enjoy the casual weekly sessions, and even found himself looking forward to these Friday nights.

When he entered the flat, loaded down with sacks of his purchases, he was surprised to find his best friend, John Watson, already ensconced in his chair in the sitting room, awaiting his arrival. "John, a bit early, aren't you?"

"Sherlock, there's something I need to talk to you about. Or Mary thinks I should talk to you. I'm not even sure it's my business, or your business, or…"

"For god's sake, man, spit it out!"

"Sit down. This is serious, I think. Wellllllll…."

"Yes, alright, well?"

"Have you noticed anything different about Molly Hooper, Sherlock? Any changes?"

"In what respect, John?"

"This is all Mary's idea, really. She's the one who came up with this notion. I'm a doctor, but she seems to think she spotted it first.."

"She believes that Molly is ill?"

"No, no! Well, Mary is a woman, you know, and…"

"Yes, John, I had noticed that. It became especially apparent after she produced offspring. Which indicates to me you had, indeed, noticed that she was female, also…"

"Shut up, you git!," John shouted, and Sherlock shut up. "Anyway, Mary thinks that there is a definite possibility that Molly is pregnant."

"Do tell. How did she arrive at that conclusion?"

"Well, and remember this is from Mary, not me, her breasts appear to be a bit larger. And she was vomiting in the ladies' loo at St. Bart's a couple of times this past week…"

"I assume that information also comes from Mary, and you were not lurking in the stalls…"

"I can assure you that all these suppositions come from my wife! Also, for the past couple of weeks, Molly has refrained from drinking her customary red wine on Friday night…"

"She was holding a glass, John."

"But she barely sipped from it the entire evening, according to Mary."

"Your wife is very observant. Evidently a skill set she picked up in her former life."

"Let's not go there, mate. Anyway, I probably wouldn't have noticed…"

"Probably?"

"Okay, definitely wouldn't have noticed. But taken all together, it does make a compelling argument, doesn't it?"

"Perhaps."

"So the question then becomes, who is the father? Neither Mary nor I were aware she was even dating anyone, let alone seriously involved enough to allow herself to become pregnant! Has she told you anything?"

"What makes you think she would tell me anything, John? Isn't Mary her best friend?"

"Okay, then, have you noticed anything? Deduced anything?"

"I have, indeed, made the same observations as your wife, and have, I must say, arrived at the same conclusion. Molly Hooper is definitely pregnant. Early stages. Just over one month, I would estimate."

"Any idea who the father is, Sherlock?"

"I do have a definite idea, John, although Molly has not mentioned anything about a pregnancy to me. My only comment to you is that I believe that she will inform all of us when she deems it appropriate, and that we should offer her our support, when and if she chooses to confide in any of us."

"Easy for you to shrug it off, mate, but you don't have a wife at home dying of curiosity, and overwhelmed with maternal instinct!"

"Perhaps she'll make some announcement this evening, John. And end all this conjecture."

"I sincerely hope so, mate. Mary is really concerned about her."

"I don't see why, John. Molly is an intelligent and mature woman. Even if the father of her child turns out to be a complete prat, which could well be the case, given her taste in men, Molly will be an caring and attentive mother, the best. So, not to worry. Everything will turn out for the best, and little Claire may soon have a companion."

John Watson sighed, and rose to leave, "Best be on my way, then. See you a little later. Got to go pick up the wfe and spawn." He walked toward the door, muttering, "You've been really no help at all, mate. Just confirmed Mary's suspicions."

The detective then busied himself chilling the white wine, and setting out bowls for the crisps and pretzels which were the mainstays of his Friday socializing. If anybody felt like anything else, they brought it themselves. He was still puttering about in the kitchen, trying to find clean glasses to set out, when Dr. Molly Hooper made her way up the stairs, carrying a grocery sack containing cheeses, and crackers, and various finger foods. Dropping the sack on the kitchen table, she turned to Sherlock and said, in a serious tone, "We have to talk."

"It's about time, love. When Mary Watson notices your incipient maternity before you have even deigned to tell me about it, it is definitely time to talk!"

Tears sprang to Molly's eyes, but the detective quickly took her in his arms and, laughing, said, "How long did you think you could hide it, Molly? And why would you want to?"

"I wasn't sure how'd you feel about it, Sherlock. We never discussed it. We hadn't planned on it…"

"Molly, we have been engaging in sexual relations for over three months now. No form of birth control is one hundred percent effective, and we have certainly been putting your particular implant to the test! Perhaps we miscalculated its effective dates. Perhaps it's defective. Who cares! You're pregnant, and I, for one, couldn't be happier! The only question which remains is why you felt I wouldn't be? Or, maybe, you are unhappy about it?"

"No! Of course, I'm happy! I just never thought…"

"That I would want children? Please, love, you know what an arrogant egotist I am. Of course I believe that the world would be better off with any number of little mini-me's inhabiting it. Especially if they are to have a mother such as you!" He was kissing her head, her cheek, anywhere he could reach. "Now, I supposed you have guessed that Mary has sniffed out your secret…"

"She was there, on two occasions, at least, as I barfed up breakfast in the ladies' loo…"

"And she sent John over here to ask what I knew about the situation. They are dying to know who the father is! So I suppose the time has come to inform them about our relationship. And the time has come to define that relationship, I should think." Sherlock then reached into his pocket to remove a small box. When he opened it, Molly was surprised to see a beautiful diamond ring, with sapphires on either side. "It was my grandmother's, Molly. I would be very happy if you were to wear it. My mother would, perhaps, be even happier. She's very excited about her first grandchild."

"Sherlock, you told her she having a grandchild before I even informed you I was pregnant? How…"

"Do you honestly believe that Mary would figure it out before I did, Molly? After all, I have a marked interest in your body, hopefully much more so than Mary. And your breasts are delightfully…"

"Stop right there, Mr. Holmes! Your company will be arriving any moment. We haven't got the time for you to show a marked interest in my body! That will have to wait. But how are we to break the news?"

"Just wear the ring, Molly. I'm sure that Mary will notice, if nobody else does. We'll play it by ear from there. Okay?"

The couple finished preparing the trays of snacks just as DI Greg Lestrade made his way up to the flat, followed by Mrs. Hudson, who had evidently been waiting for someone else to arrive, not wanting to be the first one through the door, as usual. John and Mary, with their infant Claire in tow, arrived after a moment or two. Shortly thereafter, everyone was seated comfortably in the sitting room, engaging in conversation about their week, when Mary interrupted everyone with a small shriek.

"Molly Hooper, what the bloody hell is that on your ring finger?"

"Oh, do you like it?"

"That depends. It's lovely, of course, but is it what I think it is?"

"If you think it's an engagement ring."

Everybody started to murmur their congratulations, with the exception of the detective sitting in the comfy chair across from her. Mary gave him a cautionary glance, warning him not to make any disparaging comments. ""So, you've been holding out. How long have you been seeing him, and who the bloody hell is it?"

"I've know him for quite a while. We met at work. But we've only been dating for about three months." If anyone had been paying attention to the detective instead of his pathologist, they would have seen him wince at the term "dating".

"Why didn't you tell us, Molly?" But Mary had already surmised the answer to her own question. "Ah! Afraid that the consulting git would deduce him to death, drive him off like he had all your other boyfriends?" Sherlock gave another wince at the term "boyfriend".

Sherlock then cleared his throat. "I have never driven off, as you say, any of Molly's friends. I may have pointed out that I did not consider them appropriate, that they did not deserve her…"

"Oh, do shut up, Sherlock," John, thoroughly interested in his wife's conversation, once again ordered his friend, and Sherlock, once again, shut up.

"No, not really…" Molly tried to get out.

"When can we meet him, then? Call him now! Maybe he can join us tonight. No time like the present, after all!" Mary was hoping that with her other friends around, Sherlock would refrain from any ill-chosen words.

"Oh, do, indeed, call him, Molly," the detective said in in overly sweet voice. "Everyone is simply dying to find out the man with whom you have chosen to procreate…"

At the mention of procreation, Greg Lestrade took a huge gulp of his lager, and Mrs. Hudson muttered, "Oh, dear!", neither of them having been informed of any pregnancy.

"Nice way to announce my state of impending motherhood, you git!" Molly practically sneered at the detective. "So much for the happy fanfare!"

"Well, at least they learned about the pregnancy after the engagement, a much more proper progression of events, Molly." Sherlock snickered, then added, "Just call the fortunate fellow, so everybody can see just how correct I am in saying, right now, that whoever he is, he does not deserve you!"

Molly smiled, fished her mobile out of her purse, and pressed the buttons. Immediately, Sherlock's mobile started to chime in the pocket of his trousers, but he made no move to answer it, merely sat further back in his chair, and smirked at the faces which had turned to look at him in disbelief.

John Watson finally spoke, "Well, as usual, the bloody git is right. He certainly doesn't deserve her!"


End file.
